I am Number Twelve

10

10

I certainly don't want to dress pretty for Jake, but this morning, the sun is out, its already 95 degrees, and I want to dress pretty for myself. I put on a wavy high waisted floral skirt, a nice t-shirt and low top converse all stars. I brush my hair, which seems significantly shorter today than it did yesterday, only reaching my belly button. I am also careful to cover my scars with enough make-up.

Since I have all the same classes as I did yesterday, today, I decide to spend some time practicing my pyrokinesis. I did a candle out of a drawer, and I find a cigarette lighter. I light the candle.

I focus on the flame. I make it grow taller and taller, the bright orange flame getting bigger, rougher. Then I spin it around in a spiral and put a vertical line through it. It's not until I finish that I realize I'm manipulating the flame into the same shape as the tattoo behind Jake's ear. Embarrassed, I let the flame die down back to its original shape. I then squeeze my hands shut, and imagine the flame going out, exhausting itself. And it does. The flame is gone. I try to re-ignite it, and It works when I focus on the small remaining embers.

I wonder if I can make the flame hotter? I concentrate and the flame burns rougher, redder. The wax melts quicker. I did it.

Then a stupid question pops into my head. Can I become fire resistant?

Without thinking, I make the flame larger and I put my hand into it. At first all I feel is a little tickle, then as the seconds pass by, I can feel the hot flames licking at my hand. After a minute, the heat starts to set in. I pull my hand out, expecting to find several blisters, but its unscathed. 

I guess immunity to heat comes naturally with the legacy. I grab my school bag, and walk into the kitchen. I look out the window and see Jake sitting on the brick wall out front. Crap. I skip breakfast and don't say good bye to Lola, who is sitting in her office, doing something on an expensive looking laptop, clearly given up on scanning the news. 

Ever since we moved here last week, she's been acting strange. Not,'I'm Lola, and I fucking hate Zeda and her 'non-existent' powers.' but more like she's itching for something to happen. Like she's nervous about a job interview, but its a job interview for the highest paying job in the world. Except she hasn't applied for a job.

I step out quietly, and tiptoe down the cracked path. I stop behind a pin flowery bush, and can see Jake, staring at a small stone on the ground.

I tune in my hearing and listen.

'Come on. Come on. Just do it already!' I stop breathing. If I don't know better, he's trying to move that rock with his mind. I know, I've tried with tennis balls, pens, pencils and stones. I stopped trying. Jack told me my telekinesis would kick in after my first legacy. 

I tiptoe back a few steps, and try to be as loud as possible. 'Good morning, Jake.' I say, cheerfully. I look at him.

He looks up at me, and I see a flash of his tattoo behind his ear. It strikes me as hard to believe that I just made this shape out of fire in my bedroom 5 minutes ago.

His green eyes look softer today, but when He stands and ruffles his hair and says 'Morning' in his deep voice, I know that he is not usually a soft person.

As we walk to school, I ask him a question. 

'Where'd you get that tattoo?' 

'Uh- I, um. You saw that? My uncle is a tattoo artist.' The question has caught him off guard, he stutters his reply and rubs the tattoo, then the nape of his neck.

'It looks really familiar to me.' I say, telling the truth for once.

He smirks and says under his breath 'Oh, it should.' I ponder what he has said for a few minutes, then I realize I haven't looked in my chest properly yet. 

'Jake?'

'Zeda?' He says in the same inquisitive tone as I do. I think he's trying to be sweet, but it comes out arrogant.

'How long did you live in paradise for?'

'A year, and a half, maybe?'

'Huh.' That's how long ago Jack died and I don't believe in coincidences. 

'What? Why?' He asks, seemingly irritated. 

'No reason.' I smile at him. He stops walking and furrows his brow, but I keep walking. 

When we get to school we part our separate ways, and I go to maths. When I walk in, Charlie is sitting on my desk with his legs crossed, his hands on his knees with his pinkys out and his lips all puckered like some weird, fancy queen. 

'Charlie. Get off my desk, please?' I ask.

'It's Charlie the Great, Your Highness to you, young peasant.' When he says this, I know I have already made a good friend. 

I bow and say 'Charlie the Great, Your Highness, mighith' thou getith' offith' my deskith'?' He just laughs.

Someone taps my shoulder and I turn just in time to see a perfectly manicured hand. I turn and see dirty blonde hair, brown eyes, and a welcome smile. Helen. 

'We still up for lunch? I see you've met Your Highness over here.' She nods her head to Charlie. 

'I invited the other new person, Jake with us. Maybe Charlie could come too?' I suggest.

'I honestly don't care, I just want food.' She smiles and with that, she stalks off towards her seat.

I turn to talk to Charlie, but he's on the floor, looking for something. I feel something brush my ankle, so I turn but Charlie is faced the other way. I take a look at the damage, and as I suspected, some make up has come off, and a part of the Aquillian symbol on my right ankle is showing. I smudge some concealer around to cover it up, and again I can relax. 

The teacher walks in and Charlie takes the seat next to me. 

Halfway through the period, Charlie hands me a note.

I'm like you. We need to talk, alone.

I have no idea whatsoever. I write a simple Sure on the back, not knowing exactly what I'm buying into, and just as I move to hand it back, the door opens and Ms Dally the office lady walks in, followed by two very pale, ugly police officers. 'Charlie Denmark, these Police officers would like to have a word with you outside please.'

Charlie doesn't move. He whispers, very quietly just loud enough for an Aquillian to here, 'Jake will take care of you. Don't contact me. I will be seeing you very soon, Twelve.' He uses his pen to write the number 10 very quickly before grabbing his back pack and leaving.

What? Twelve? Ten? I'm Like you? I almost pass out. Charlie is part of the Garde.